DYSTOPIA
by PinkVeeBerry
Summary: I hadn't seen another human being in so long. I wasn't sure if this was real. Was I just dreaming it? Had the zombie bitten me? Was I dying? Was this a hallucination? DarylxOC


I had parked the black Jeep in front of the house. From the outside it seemed deserted, the windows so dirty you could barely look through them. I got out of the car and took the black golf bag off the backseat and slung it over my shoulder but not before taking one of the clubs out of it.

Had I known that there would be a zombie apocalypse, I would've learned how to shoot, how to fight, how to defend myself. But I hadn't known and even though I had a gun my weapon of choice was a golf club. Who would've thought all those golf lessons my father had forced me to go to would turn out this handy? Too bad he was no longer here to watch me take his old clubs to good use.

I went up the porch of the white house and tried to open the front door as slowly and quietly as I could. The house was right next to the road and even though the backside was surrounded by trees and therefore possibly dangerous because I wouldn't be able to see zombies if they came out of the forest, the other side of the street was flat land and easy to watch. I had figured that it was better than nothing. It was shortly before sundown and this house was better than sleeping in the car as I had done the last few nights.

I entered the house, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, the golf club raised, ready to smash a zombie's head in the matter of mere seconds. My gun, that I had pushed into the waistband of my big jeans, made me feel even more secure. Even if I wasn't good at shooting, having the gun with me at all times made me feel safer.

The hallway was empty, so was the first room I scanned. And the second. After a few minutes I had checked all the rooms and found the house to be just as deserted on the inside as it had looked from the outside. I went back to the car, pulling a blanket and cushion that I had stolen a few weeks ago out of the trunk and went back inside where I found a heavy table that I pushed in front of the front door to block it. If I wanted to get some sleep I needed to make sure it wasn't going to be interrupted by a stray zombie accidentally walking into the house.

It had been easier way back when we had been a group. My parents and two of their friends. We could just keep watch in shifts. But they were gone now. It was ridiculous. Out of the five of us I had been the weakest. Neither I nor any of the others probably would've ever guessed that I'd be the survivor. I felt a pang of guilt and my heart ached, a wave of grieving rolling over me.

I went to check the cupboards in the kitchen and found whole shelves with canned food and water bottles. It was quite interesting. A lot of people seemed to have been into hoarding supplies even before the zombie apocalypse. Weeks ago I had broken into a house and found a whole room with food and drinks. It had kept me alive until now, I still had some of it left. I mentally thanked all the pessimistic people that had felt like they needed a giant stock of supplies. They were my saviors. I decided that I would pack some of the cans and bottles the next morning.

I laid down, exhausted, after I had taken a look out of all the windows, checking the darkness for creatures lurking in it. I slowed down my breathing and listened, just listened. My hearing had always been rather good. But everything I could hear right now was a slight gust of wind going through the trees. No branches breaking, no steps, no heavy breathing. Slowly, I fell asleep.

When I woke up the next morning the sun was already shining. But that wasn't what I woke up to. I heard a scratching sound, like something was being pushed over the floor, very slowly.

The table.

Once you're out there, fighting for your survival, your senses sharpen. I never felt disoriented when I woke up in a new place. I remembered all the details, everything.

I grabbed the golf club lying next to me and pushed the gun back into the waistband of my jeans. Then I got up, slowly, very slowly. Whatever was trying to push the table was slow, the table was much too heavy for it. While I walked out into the hallway, making my way to the front door, I glanced out of the windows, checking if the house was surrounded by zombies. It wasn't.

There was a window next to the door. Carefully, I tried to look through it. Even though the glass was smeared with dirt, I could spot the vague form of a zombie. One, only one. Without realizing that I had even held it, I let out my breath. I could handle one zombie. I raised the golf club again and pulled the table away from the door. The zombie fell through it, obviously disoriented, but I was fast. With two powerful swings I smashed its head in, some drops of its blood landing on my light jeans, white t-shirt and face.

I tried to clean my club on its ripped clothing, not wanting the blood to stain it. Then I went down to the car to get my big duffle bag. Zombies rarely came alone, I had to get the hell out of here. I ran back into the kitchen, scooped the cans and bottles off the shelves and carelessly threw them in the bag. Every now and then I flinched when a can hit another one loudly. I zipped the duffle bag shut, slung the golf bag over my shoulder again and carried the duffle bag in my left hand and held a golf club in the right hand, ready to swing at any form of danger. At first it had been hard to carry and balance so many things at once but by now I had gotten rather good at it. I wanted to storm out the door but gasped when I saw that there were about five zombies waiting for me outside. Apparently I had been too loud while packing the supplies.

I had two possibilities. Either fighting my way to the car and escape as fast as possible or going back inside and barricade myself in the house. I considered both for a second, my mind working fast. I could take on five maybe, I had done it before, but if I went back inside there was a possibility that more would come and surround the whole house. If that happened I'd never get out alive. So I decided to fight.

I swung my golf club at the first zombie hard, denting its head in, its body sinking to the ground. I did the same thing to the second one before running down the porch. I dropped my duffle bag and club and pulled out the gun. I didn't like using it but it would get me out of here faster. I shot the third zombie but number four was already coming at me. Just like number five. I shot zombie number four but before I could turn around and do the same to five it had grabbed my right hand, resulting in me shrieking and dropping my gun. As I smelt its stench I thought this was it. I would die now. My parents' sacrifices had been for nothing, in vain. But maybe I'd get to see them now, maybe I could join them now. I was tired of being alone. It was okay. I would die. The zombie pulled me closer and I wriggled in its grip. Soon it would sink its teeth into my neck. It was about to happen. The zombie opened its mouth and was about to bite - when suddenly it went slack and fell down, its hands letting go of me.

I looked at it lying on the floor in shock. There was an arrow sticking through its brain.

"Hey! Ya okay?" a male voice screamed and I looked into the direction the arrow had come from. A man with a crossbow strode towards me. He was in his mid-thirties, had dark hair that was long enough to fall in his eyes and he wore a black leather vest.

"Yeah... I ... thanks," I stuttered when he came to a hold in front of me.

I hadn't seen another human being in so long. I wasn't sure if this was real. Was I just dreaming it? Had the zombie bitten me? Was I dying? Was this a hallucination?

**A/N: Hi, so I hope you liked this? I'm not quite sure if anybody will even read this but while rewatching all seasons of The Walking Dead I had so so many good ideas so I thought why not write a fanfiction? So I hope you enjoy it!**


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